


Nuance

by DestielWS



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bunker Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, Lots of gushing about emotions too, M/M, POV Castiel, POV First Person, Secret Relationship, Watersports, i forgot how to tag things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielWS/pseuds/DestielWS
Summary: Castiel doesn't understand everything perfectly. Some things, he understands too well. Dean wanting him to pee on him? Definitely falls in the "do not understand" category.[Castiel's POV}





	Nuance

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look I'm not dead. I felt the urge to write this really bad today so instead of being a productive member of society, I did.

When I looked back on it, the series of events that had occurred made perfect sense. The three of us lived together and isolated from the rest of society, each in our own type of emotionally fragile state. It seemed only natural that some _deeper_ connection would be formed, more complicated than brotherhood, yet also more simple. I loved Sam and Dean, both. They were my family. They knew the things I had done and still loved me. They both treated me well and wanted the best for me, but there was always one difference. Sam and I had a distance between us that we'd never lost. I wasn't sure what I had done to forge it, but there was a separation there. That distance disappeared so quickly between Dean and I, that I doubted it ever truly existed. I realized later, that the issue was not a lack of closeness between Sam and I, but a surplus of intimacy between Dean and I. Sam and Dean both felt like brothers to me, but with Dean there was always more than that. This fact manifested itself one day when Sam was out making a store run.

I had always known about Dean's attraction to other men, and recognized his internal conflict and self-hatred because of it. It was never something either of us talked about. I'd seen him disappear with the waiter or the bartender or some random stranger many times, but I never imagined I would be on his short list of people he wanted to bed.

Dean sat down on the couch beside me and handed me another beer. The couch was old and the springs inside it were weak, caving as we rested on it. The collapsed springs pushed Dean further towards me and our legs rested together.

“Thanks,” I said, pulling the bottle cap off. The alcohol content of the drinks had no effect on me, but I enjoyed the companionship of being with Dean and doing something with him. I felt less alone.

Dean stared at the television in front of his, his eyes glazed over and not quite focusing. “What idiots.”

I looked at the screen in confusion. A commercial for a jewelry chain was on. A woman cried tears of joy as her husband to be pulled out a ring. “Why are they idiots?”

Dean took another large drink from the bottle and sighed. “There is no such thing as a happy ever after. Love is overrated.”

“I disagree,” I said, slightly distracted by the next commercial, an alluring advertisement for food with terrible effects on your health but amazing tastes. I believe Dean calls it comfort food. “The pursuit of happiness is never futile.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “The pursuit of anything unattainable is futile.”

“Who said happiness is unattainable?” I asked.

Dean sighed. “It's how the universe works. There's no such thing as true happiness, especially not for people like us.” Dean paused for a minute. “Well not people. One person and one celestial being.”

I chuckled. “Can't I be both?”

Dean smiled at me. “Guess there's nothing that says you can't.”

I fidgeted with the bottle cap in my hand and turned back to him. “Regardless, happiness if subjective. Even hunters and celestial beings can be happy, Dean. Your definition of happiness is what defines if you can be or not.”

He looked skeptical. “Are you happy?”

I thought about the question. “Yes, Dean. Are you?”

Dean took another drink. “What's your subjective definition of happiness? I don't think it's possible for you to be happy. I mean, your whole family is dead and the ones that aren't dead betrayed you.”

I found the insinuation rather forward. “That's not true. My family is sitting next to me right now. That's why I'm happy.”

Dean broke eye contact and looked just past me at the wall. “None of us will ever have that magical suburban happiness, though.”

“Who cares about suburban happiness?” I countered. “Nothing about any of our lives has ever been standard. That doesn’t make us any less capable of having our own kind of happiness.”

Dean shrugged and didn’t reply.

“Happiness isn’t what you’re really talking about, is it though?” I put my bottle cap down on the table and looked at him expectantly.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You don’t really care about a suburban sense of happiness,” I stated. “You’re talking about love.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m talking about happiness. Not that love is anything people in our line of work can have, either.”

I disapproved of his conclusions. “You loved Lisa, didn’t you?”

“Isn’t that the point?” he argued. “Past tense, not present?”

“Striving for a normal life was never going to work for you, Dean,” I replied. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have some life with another hunter, someone you don’t feel compelled to lie to about your entire life. Even I know at this point that lying about who you are is just going to set you up for failure.”

Dean scoffed. “Okay, Dr. Phil.”

“Who’s Dr. Phil? I wasn’t aware you knew a doctor.”

Dean laughed and turned back to the TV. He shifted in his spot on the couch and his leg shifted against mine.

“That’s a serious question,” I said. “What if we need him in the future?”

“I think we need him now,” Dean retorted.

I still don’t know who Dr. Phil is.

Dean exhaled slowly and his features softened. He slouched over against me. “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

“Frequently,” I stated. “Like you said, my whole family’s dead.”

“Couldn’t you at least understand the desire, then? Wanting to have a normal, boring, safe life?” Dean asked.

“I would understand the desire if that’s what you really wanted, but I don’t believe it is.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Dean said. “It has its moments, though. You and Sam aren’t going to be here forever. I mean, Sam will probably find someone eventually. And you’ll probably make up with your family like you always do. Or get killed trying.”

“Dean, I’m an angel. I’ve been alive for millennia and I don’t plan on changing that,” I said. “You’re really depressing when you drink, you know that?”

Dean nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

“I mean it, though, Dean.” I replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean was in a mood. He wasn’t usually like this. He wasn’t near drunk. I think he reached his limit of how much he would care about what other people think, and he just wanted what he wanted. I didn’t know what to say or how to react when he started kissing the side of my face. I don’t think he did either. We never really discussed _why_ he did it.

Dean pulled himself onto my lap and rested his nose against mine, his hands on my cheeks and breath warm against my face. It started to make sense to me why things felt different with Sam. I would never imagine Sam rambling about being lonely and then sitting on top of me. Somehow, I was not shocked when Dean did this. He started kissing me again, this time on the mouth. He nervously undid the buttons on my shirt.

“Don’t you ever change?” he muttered.

“Everyday,” I said.

“Do you have more than one outfit?”

“No.”

He laughed at me as he leaned back to take his t-shirt off. He left my button-up hanging open at the sides and put his hands on my chest. I liked the way they felt there–the warmth made me feel connected to him, like we were part of the same being. He tried to move his hands off, but I wouldn’t let him. I held onto his wrists and made him keep touching me. He slowly dragged his hands lower and I let go of him. I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Is this okay?” he asked, holding my belt in his hands.

“Of course.”

The metal on my belt buckle scraped against itself as it fell open. He pulled the zipper down on my pants. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“I want to touch your dick,” he muttered. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

“I want you to,” I said.

Somehow, I had an erection. I didn’t know when or how that happened. I understood the mechanics, of course. I knew that it was caused by increased blood flow to the internal pudendal artery. I was more shocked by the notion that it was just _there_ so suddenly and I was too busy focusing on Dean to even realize. He had one, too, I noticed. I had imagined the sensation would feel more technical, but in ways, it was the least technical thing I’d ever felt. I never wanted Dean to stop touching me, and when he did, my breath hitched in my throat and the hair on my arms stood on end. I just wanting the feeling of _him_ back.

Technically speaking, Dean’s time in my life was unsubstantial. I’d known him for less than a decade, yet I’d been alive since the beginning of creation. Yet, without him, nothing would be the same. In such small time, he’d completely changed my life. Dean pushed one hand through my hair and pleasured himself with another. I wanted him to go back to touching me again. Maybe he picked up on that, since he quickly sat more forward and pressed me into the back of the couch. I brought my awkward arms up and held onto his back, keeping him close to me. He rocked back and forth in my lap, in what felt like an impossibly intimate act. The concept of just rubbing two genitals together wouldn’t have seemed like much, but there was a reason I was letting Dean do everything: I had no clue what I was doing.

After we’d both climaxed, Dean tried to get off me. I assumed he wanted to go start the self-hating cycle he does after engaging with men, despite the fact that I am not so much a man, but a genderless being consisting of light and sound. I wouldn’t let him go, and held him there. I expected more of a protest, but to my honest surprise, he settled in against me, holding his head against mine. I felt “warm and fuzzy” inside, as people put it. Dean wouldn’t admit it if asked, I’m sure, but he did, too.

I felt tranquil sitting on that couch with Dean, but it was disturbed when he jumped up and began frantically trying to put his clothes on. I looked at him, startled and confused.

“Sam.” he said. I too had forgotten that he would be home at any moment. “Cas, you need to–uh–clean up.”

I stared down at the ejaculate on my stomach. “Yes, I suppose I do.” I fixed my pants and walked back towards the bathrooms.

Dean insisted about keeping Sam uninformed of our relationship after that. I felt it was obvious to everyone else that something was very different between the two of us, but Dean was adamant no one else knew and it had to stay that way. Two years passed like that, and I felt more and more sad about the fact Dean didn’t want anyone else to know I was in love with him. I expressed this often, but Dean said it wasn’t like that, and that people would judge us if they knew. Even if true, I didn’t see the point in hiding it from Sam. Sam loved us both, and if anyone would have picked up on subtle glances and small touches, it would be him. I had a feeling he knew, but also had a feeling that Dean just wanted an excuse to keep things private, that he’d feel too embarrassed of displaying affection for me publicly.

Through discussions I’d overhear, and sometimes have with Sam, I’d gathered that despite seeming it would be the opposite, Dean was the gentle, emotional lover, and Sam was not. My time with Dean had proven me that that was true about him, at least. He was never rough and always felt like warmth. Not just him, but his soul, as well. It left me fairly shocked, then, when Dean had an unconventional request.

We shared a bed every night and kept the door locked in case Sam ever tried to come in without knocking. Dean insisted. He didn’t like sharing a bed so much in the beginning, but I fell asleep so much easier with his arms around me. I would occasionally have night terrors and he helped me go back to sleep more than anything else ever could. On one particular night, he rolled over on top of me and started kissing me.

I sighed and held him off my face a couple inches. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I need to relieve myself,” I stated, rolling him off me.

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?” I didn’t understand what he was asking.

“It’s like a thing, you know,” Dean said. “I saw it online once.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What if you just–” Dean made a humming sound. “–peed on me?”

I was so shocked my eyebrows raised themselves. “Dean, that’s weird.”

“I know, but I’d wash the sheets,” he replied.

“Dean,” I repeated, giving him a small kiss. “That’s really weird. Even I know that.”

Dean sighed as I got off the bed and headed towards the door.

He kept asking every once in a while over the next few months. Every time, I would tell him that it’s weird. It wasn’t that I minded so much–because I didn’t–but it felt only fair that I denied him one small thing. I felt like he was ashamed of me and it hurt more than I liked to admit. So I kept telling him no. Despite my reasons for denying his request, it didn’t actually occur to me to do anything about it for some time.

I did eventually.

“Okay, look, it’s not that weird,” Dean said, taking his phone out when I went to get out of bed.

“Yes, it is, Dean,” I drawled.

“Look how many videos people uploaded for it just in the past month. Over 1,000.”

I looked at the screen. I stared at him blankly.

Dean pressed on a video and fast-forwarded through it until he found a part he deemed suitable. “Look! Doesn’t that look appealing?”

I kept staring at him and shook my head. “It has absolutely no effect on me.”

“None?” Dean was skeptical and grabbed my boxers.

“See. None,” I replied, walking to the door. “Maybe we can come to a compromise, though.”

“What do you want?” Dean asked. “I didn’t think angels had kinks, but I’m down for anything.”

“Anything?” I repeated, mimicking his tones.

He nodded.

“I’m tired of hiding in my own home. I want Sam to know about us,” I said, leaning against the door.

“Okay not anything.”

“Come on, Dean,” I groaned. “It’s Sam. I’m not saying put it on Tweeter. I just think Sam should know.”

“Sam doesn’t matter,” Dean said.

“You’re right. Sam doesn’t matter. He won’t think anything, so we should tell him,” I stated. “I’m only going to make the offer once, Dean.”

Dean made a whining noise. “Cas, please?”

I shook my head and put my hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dean sighed loudly as I began opening the door. “No! Stop. I’ll do it.”

I turned back to him and grinned. “Really?”

He bit the inside of his lips in a grimace and nodded. I had this feeling of energy in the pit of my stomach, this tingling. I pulled the door shut again. And then I locked it.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, sitting on the bed in front of Dean.

“This is going to be a fucking disaster, isn’t it?” he groaned.

“Probably.”

Dean smiled at me. “What do you want to do?”

“Personally, go to bed. But you’re the one who wants me to urinate on you, so it’s your choice,” I stated.

“God, I don’t know,” Dean said.

“You have the entire internet in front of you for inspiration and you don’t know?” I asked.

“Exactly.” Dean started laughing.

His smile was the most beautiful thing to me, so I kissed him. His everything was the most beautiful thing to me, really. More so in my giddy demeanor knowing that soon I wouldn’t be keeping my greatest love a secret. Dean caressed my face and I pushed him down into the bed.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“Whatever you want,” I replied.

Dean explained and I nodded along. It was a simple enough request, though I never felt the need to change up how we had sex any. Perhaps that was a nuance of relationships I would never quite understand.

I kept kissing Dean and touching his arms, telling him how much I loved him. That wasn’t part of the plan and Dean seemed rather impatient with me in hindsight. Dean wanted to get on to the “main festivities”. I eventually rolled him onto his stomach and dragged my fingers down from his shoulders all the way down to his thighs. I never got tired of touching him and holding him and feeling him beneath me. I took the lubricant we kept on the dresser by the bed and applied it liberally to one of my hands. I pulled the waistband of Dean’s shorts down and inserted my fingers inside him. He gasped quietly and folded his arms out in front of him, resting his chin on his forearms.

Not many things made me feel overwhelmed, but the sensation of initially sliding inside of Dean always did without fail. I felt so connected with him. Dean told me it was a cheesy thing to say. I didn’t care. I kept moving my hands down his back like I was trying to memorize every curve of his body by muscle memory. We’d developed a rhythm over our time together that our bodies easily slipped into. I knew when to move and he knew when to press. I found it oddly beautiful and harmonic. I ran my hands up through Dean’s hair and messed it up. Dean moaned and pressed his face into his arms. He was always so paranoid of Sam hearing anything. I leaned down and kissed the side of his neck. He turned his face to kiss me back.

I saw Dean shift one arm underneath himself, slowly moving back and forth dragging across the blankets. I removed myself from behind him and let him roll over again, facing me. I went back to kissing him, replacing his hand with my own. He reached out for me as well. I usually ended up “coming” first as he called it. That was one of those funny terms humans used I didn’t quite understand. He didn’t mind, though. I never quite shook the tendency of feeling like I was making a mess, but Dean loved it. He licked his finger off as he kissed me and he moaned louder than he meant to. I didn’t understand the appeal, but I loved that he did. I felt like I was making him happy.

“What are you waiting for?” Dean asked, his voice a pining begging tone.

“Nothing, I just enjoy kissing you,” I replied.

Dean smiled at me. “Kiss me later.”

I nodded and sat up away from his face. Dean stared at me.

“Are you _sure_ you want to do this?” I asked.

Dean groaned. “Yes. Worst case, I hate it and never do it again.”

“I suppose,” I muttered, moving up and sitting on his hips. Dean made an excited sound and I smiled at him. “You’re weird.”

“I know,” he said.

I stared pensively at myself and I watched the contents of my bladder start to slowly spill out onto his stomach. Dean looked thrilled. I processed what was happening slower than usual. Dean reached up and excitably touched the liquid, spreading it around on his chest. Things started to make sense to me. I didn’t feel strongly about any of this ten minutes ago, but just _feeling_ his joy now, it felt at its core like just sharing another part of myself with him. The concept of peeing on someone during intercourse seemed frowned upon by the way Dean talked about it previously, but I didn’t see the fuss. I went back to laying on top of Dean and kissing him. Dean gripped onto my face and pulled me into him with a vigor I always longed for. I began stroking Dean quickly, feeling him moan up into my mouth.

I moved my hand in all the ways he’d showed me liked and made him writhe beneath me. I felt bittersweet for a moment. I loved Dean so much, but this also felt like a reminder of how far I’d fallen. Heaven’s greatest soldier was now urinating on humans. Dean’s happiness took the bitter out of the thought quickly. Dean’s concerns about being too audible from the hallway had shifted to the back of his mind it seemed as profanities and moans spilled from his mouth. Dean was ecstatic. I kept running my hand and up down his length until he left his own release on his stomach. I laid down on top of him and kissed him. Now we were both a mess.

“That was awesome,” he whispered after a moment.

I nodded. “I understand the allure.”

Dean kept kissing me in between breaths and stroking my cheek.

“If you don’t hold up on your end of the deal, I’m never doing this again, though,” I added.

He sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

“Should I get up so you can take care of the sheets?” I asked.

“Doing this in bed was a terrible idea,” Dean stated.

“Yes.”

“Worth it,” he breathed, kissing me over and over. “Get me fresh underwear out while I put these in the wash.”

I got off of Dean and let him gather up the blankets. We slept very soundly that night. Mostly. I kept waking up hoping it would be morning so that I could tell Sam about the two of us. In the morning, I offered to make everyone coffee. Dean sat on the couch and Sam sat in a recliner nearby, enjoying a bowl of cereal. I came in carrying three coffees on a tray and let Sam and Dean each take one. I set mine on the table in front of the couch and sat down beside Dean.

“Hey,” I said, snuggling up to his side. I felt him tense up.

“Hey,” he strained.

I smiled at him and pressed a gentle kiss to his face now that Sam was watching. He kissed me back awkwardly and then turned back to the TV like nothing happened. Sam looked shocked with his wide-eyed and flat mouth for almost a whole second before settling back in. I was right again. He knew about us. Just I don’t think he ever saw the day Dean would admit it.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said, raising the mug to his mouth.

I looked at him. “No problem.” I felt Dean’s weight relax against me as he took a slow, deep breath.

“See,” I whispered. “Everything was okay.”


End file.
